


the things we hold on to

by siehn



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 02:47:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siehn/pseuds/siehn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Bucky, afterwards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the things we hold on to

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hobohairedbuckybear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobohairedbuckybear/gifts).



> For [Victoria](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hobohairedbuckybear) because I can. <3

You still can’t believe it’s him. 

It’s been seventy years, but for you it still feels like you just watched him fall from the side of that train car, and everyone around you seems to think you should see him differently. They don’t understand that you can’t, that you aren’t built to be afraid of the one person who was always there, who slept in a chair beside the bed on long, cold nights when neither of you were sure you were going to wake up in the morning, his hand pressed against your chest just so he could tell if you were breathing. It’s Bucky, even though he doesn’t remember, and the notion that you should see him as the enemy is ridiculous. 

“He’s asking for you,” Tasha tells you later, long weeks after you knocked him out, and brought him in, and you’ve been kept on the peripheral, out of sight. You know they’ve been trying to dig underneath all the Soviet programming to find Bucky underneath; you don’t know how successful they’ve been, but you’re hardly not gonna go. You’ve never been that good at saying no to him; some things never change. 

The sight of him sitting there in the chair, hair still too long, and his metal arm is gone, and you remember what it’s like to have an asthma attack, to be short of breath because it just won’t come. It’s _Bucky_ , one who has obviously been changed by the world you’ve found yourselves in, but Bucky nonetheless. You know that look in his eyes; you’ve seen it directed at you a hundred thousand times, and you’d say something, if only you could breathe. 

“Steve,” he says, like he’s testing the waters before he becomes more sure of himself, and he’s leaning towards you like he wants to move, but he’s still cuffed to the chair. 

It’s probably a stupid idea, but you’re good at those, and you manage to pull yourself together enough to walk over close, and tug the cuffs until they break. You’re half expecting him to go for your throat because that’s what he did last time, still lost in whatever they did to him, but he doesn’t. He watches you warily for a long moment, swallows hard, and then lunges close to wrap his good arm around you. 

It feels like being punched in the gut all the same. 

You gasp out a breath, and wrap your arms around him tight as you can, eyes sliding closed because he’s here, and real, and you can’t believe it. “Bucky,” you finally manage, pulling back just enough to catch his eyes. They’re harder, different, but you wouldn’t expect anything less: you’re different too, than the stubborn kid he knew. You’re starting to think that’s what this world does, but maybe it’s not all bad. “God, Buck, I can’t believe it’s you,” you whisper, hands sliding up to cup either side of his face, and you’re probably crying, but you don’t care. You cried when he died; maybe it makes sense that you’d cry over the fact he’s alive, too. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, like it’s wrenched from him, and you shake your head in denial. “No, listen to me; Steve I tried to kill you, I”

“Shut up,” you interrupt forcefully. “It wasn’t you, okay? It _wasn’t_ , Buck.” He doesn’t believe you, the guilt practically shining from his eyes, but it’s okay. You’ll keep telling him until he does. You offer up a small smile instead of anything else. “I missed you.” 

His grin needs some work, not quite as bright as it used to be, but just as reckless. It still makes your heart skip, the way it always did. “Missed you too, punk,” he tells you, tugs you back in until he’s just holding on like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. 

You don’t mind being his anchor; God knows he’s always been yours.


End file.
